


My Youngest

by Airie



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Children, Coming of Age, Retrospective, Thieving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airie/pseuds/Airie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the series about Caye and Farkas' children, focusing on their youngest son, who followed his mother's footsteps and became a thief.</p><p>Originally posted on February 22th 2013 on deviantArt</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Youngest

_“Where did I go wrong?”_ Caye wondered, observing her son struggle with Belethor’s inventory chest’s lock. _“Farkas is going to murder me if he finds out.”_ Was her second thought. 

She tried to take a step back and objectively assess whether or not she failed at shielding her children from her darker side. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t find any transgressions on her part. They, all three of them, were oblivious of their life-giver being a manipulator, deceiver, schemer… and a thief.

They had normal lives… for children of mixed race, raised by a Circle member and the Harbinger. Lanni, the oldest, was a promising student at the College up in Winterhold. Otho was the only one to bind his future with Jorrvaskir, as he was Eorlund’s apprentice.

And then there was Arno, the youngest. Sixteen, just like his twin brother, he was… a peculiar child. Smart, well-spoken… Why hadn’t she notched sooner how nimble his fingers were??

The lad cursed, putting aside a broken lockpick and reached for a new one. He was still unaware of his mother’s presence. And how her heart ached.

She saw him slip through the backdoor of Belethors shop by accident, as she was returning home late at night from her own roughish prowl. The Jarl had recently purchased a luxurious hairdress. It was a beautiful piece of Redguard craftsmanship. Caye was awestruck the moment she saw it on the ruler’s head. She knew it was love at first sight, and she just had to have it. 

It wasn’t the first time she fell in love with a trinket. And she knew it’s going to haunt her until she finally lays her hands on it. She seized opportunity and after weeks of careful planning, she snuck out of the house, traversed the sleeping city, climbed all the way up Dragonsreach and slipped into the Jarl’s quarters.

She took the hairdress from the display case and caressed tenderly. The silver was perfectly polished, the single emerald had the shape of a teardrop. After admiring, she tried it on and looked at herself in the mirror. It was her now. She could waltz out of the bedroom and take it home. She could keep it in her most secure strongbox and no one would ever know.

And just like that, the magic was gone. The trinket held no forbidden allure anymore. She sighed, their affair was over. Quietly, the Dunmer laid it back on its rightful place and left the Jarl’s bedroom. The ruler was sleeping like a baby, unaware of the scene.

She wanted to just go home, take a warm bath and go to bed, but with the corner of her eye she caught a dark figure breaking into the general goods store. She followed it, as she was unaware of any operations held in Whiterun. Whoever it was, was obviously a freelancer with no connections to the Guild. Were it otherwise, they would know no one dared steal in Whiterun without her knowledge and permission.

And now she was leaning against the doorframe, heart wrecked, seeing her child unconsciously following her footsteps. She remembered her first broken lock as if it were yesterday, though it was over a century ago. Back on Raven Rock, in the orphanage she grew up in.

_She always had a good sense of hearing. Late at night she heard footsteps so quiet, a less keen ear wouldn’t pick them up. But she did, got up from bed and followed curiously. She passed the other children sleeping either on hay mattresses or the bare floor and left the girls common room. From there, she passed the hall and descended the steps down to the pantry, as quietly as the person she was tracking._

_She halted at the pantry entrance, peeking through the half-shut door. She held her breath, pressing her little fist to her mouth as not to make a sound._

_She faintly remembered the person who was trying to open the doors leading to the storage room, where the headmistress kept the most delicious treats. The thief was one of the older girls, a seventeen-year-old Dunmer with short gray hair, who kept boasting her father was a pirate and one day he’ll come, burn the orphanage down and take her with him on a life of plunder and adventure._

_The girl was hungry and angry. In just a week she’ll be an adult and will have to leave the damned orphanage. So far, her father hadn’t come to free her from this dull, meager existence. And her mother was a wench, irrelevant and spiteful. She cursed, rotating the pick. The headmistress might consider herself an organized, resourceful manager, but somehow she never noticed how her supplies kept missing._

_She tried a different angle, the lock scraped the tumblers. She hoped to steal some good cheese, and maybe a bit of ham? Anything other than those bland yams. Too bad there were no stronger drinks around the place, but what could you expect form an orphanage?_

_She cursed, as the pick broke. She hid it in her pocket and fished out a new one. She was a rookie thief, but had the sixth sense necessary for a life of crime. She knew she wasn’t alone. She turned around, reaching from a makeshift knife she always kept around, like a true pirate._

_“You…!” She hissed, seeing a seven-year-old girl staring at her in silence._

_It was the little blackeyed creep. That kid always made her cringe. It… well, she… never talked a lot and always kept to herself. And stared with those alien eyes. She stood up and cautiously approached the kid, minding if it tried to run or scream. But it just stood there, staring._

_“Are you going to tell?” She asked._

_“No.” Caye replied._

_“Are you going to try to run?” Her brows crossed._

_“No.”_

_“Good. Because I’d cut your throat before you could gasp. I am a pirate’s daughter, you know.” She boasted, brandishing the knife in front of the creepy girl’s face. “Well? Are you stupid or something?” She asked, seeing the child calmly scrutinize her._

_“No.” Was heard again._

_“Is that all you can say?” She grunted, growing annoyed of that tranquil stare. She grabbed Caye by the shoulder and painfully yanked up. “So, what are you doing here, little creep?”_

_“I heard footsteps. I was curious.”_

_“Curious…” The thief spat, letting go. “Want me to show you how it’s done?” She suddenly proposed, sheathing her knife._

_The kid’s eyes grew bigger, the eyeballs were entirely black, unbelievable._

_“Yes, please.” Caye replied._

_The girl lead the child to the door. Caye was up front, the girl behind her. She gave her a lockpick, grabbed the little girl’s wrists and guided towards the lock._

_“Feel it? Feel how the tumblers rotate under the pick?”_

_“No.”_

_“It’s because you hadn’t found the sweet spot, stupid.” The pirate’s daughter sad smugly. “Try a different angle.”_

_Caye bit her pale lips and struggle with the lock._

_“No!” She heard a hiss next to her ear, but hadn’t jumped. “Idiot, you’ll brake it!” The thief reprimanded, painfully squeezing her wrists. “Gently, you’re not in a rush.”_

_The child risked, and tilted the pick to the right. Something felt different about that angle. She pushed the pick deeper, feeling the tumbler give in. She smiled, though the thief couldn’t see._

_“I got it.” She said with glee._

_“Only because the lock is so easy, even a guar could pick it. Now finish it off!”_

_The child did so. The lock gave in. The door was opened._

_“Ha!” The pirate girl let her go and shoved aside, entering the storage room._

_Caye followed, surprised of the secrets the room hid. Sacks and boxes of sweet treats and drinks, the likes she only ate in small amounts and very rarely. She approached one of the shelves and reached for a jar of sugar-roasted fruits. She never ate those before._

_“Can I…?” She asked, though the question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular._

_“Sure you can, no one’s stopping you.” The older girl encouraged, slicing off a large piece of cheese._

_“Should I…?” The child wondered._

_“And why in Oblivion not? Take it!”_

_Caye picked the jar up and took the lid off. Azura, the sweet smell melted her senses. She never smelled something as alluring as those sweets. She picked out the reddest and roundest candy and took it in her mouth. The flavor was indescribable._

_“How does it taste, kid?” The thief girl asked with a grin._

_“Good.” The child answered with bliss. The pirate’s daughter would never suspect that brat could smile._

_“Remember that taste. It’s the taste of your plunder, nothing you’ll get the honest way can taste like that.” The teen preached._

_Caye needn’t any more sweets less she spoils the wonderful flavor flowing through her mouth. She unlocked the door and stole candy. Someone could hear, someone could see. She could get into trouble. That… felt good. She felt a rush of adrenaline through her head. She loved it._

_“Come on, stupid, time to go.” She felt a palm painfully on her shoulder. “Now…” The girl bend forward and grinned dangerously. “You helped me break into the pantry and stole something yourself, were partners in crime now, you and I. So, you can’t tell on me, understood?”_

_Caye gasped, but it wasn’t because she did something wrong. She wasn’t scared, she was angry. That… wretched older girl played her and now had the upper hand! She got tricked like… a child._

_“I’m not a snitch!” She assured with dignity, clenching her tiny fists._

_“Good. Because you know what happens to snitches?” The teen patted her shiv._

_“You cut them.”_

_“Atta girl, you’re getting the hang of it.”_

Arno cussed, punching the chest’s lid in helpless fury. The lock was too complex for him. He needn’t be quiet; Belethor was away on urgent business. He chose wisely the time to strike.

“Mephala’s dick!” He growled, realizing he was out of picks.

“Language.” Caye quietly reprimanded.

He screamed, turning around, reaching for a dagger. His mother noticed it was her blade, the pup was bold.

“Ma!” He said surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, dear.” She replied calmly.

Like all her children, her son had light skin, more blue than gray. Unlike with pureblooded Dunmer, the whites of his eyes were white and clear, not dark or blood-shot. But his irises were crimson. His hair was jet-black, pulled back into a short ponytail. The few hairs on his cheeks he wore with pride. And as with all children of mixed race, he looked nothing like his parents. There were vague similarities, but half-elves had their own type of beauty.

“Ma…” He tried to excuse himself. “I…”

“Either do the job good or don’t try at all.” She scolded, approaching Arno and the chest. “Now, sit down and let me show you how it’s done.”

Dumbstruck, the lad accepted a lockpick from his mother. She kneeled next to him and gently held by the wrists. She almost choked on the irony, this scene was all too familiar. She patiently guided him towards the sweet spot.

“Can you feel it?”

“Yes.” He replied, his voice shook from both excitement and nervousness. 

His mother, the Harbinger, the woman who never said anything unnecessary and always had a plan, she… Helped him rob a store. What would dad say? Did he know? Did his siblings know? Mother never told them anything about her life before Skyrim. She could be anyone. So, why not a thief?

He pushed the pick deeper, mindful not to break it. The tumblers gave in, the lock was opened.

“Yes!” He said with triumph. He looked over his shoulder, meeting with his mother’s empty eyes. 

“Open it, dear.” Caye said softly, letting him go and taking a step back. “Claim your loot.”

Arno’s eyes lit up with greed. Greed was a terrible advisor, dulling awareness and common sense. In his eagerness, Arno hadn’t noticed a wire activating a simple trap Belethor had installed just in case. She hadn’t said anything, waiting for her child to get just what he deserved.

Arno opened the chest impatiently, and just as the wood hit against the wall behind the container, the lad was sprayed with a cloud of paralyzing gas. He choked, gagged and fell to the floor as if in a seizure. He struggled for a moment, before going completely numb. Caye kneeled next to him and rearranged into a safer position.

“I’m sorry, dear.” She said with sorrow. “But you won’t learn otherwise.” She gently caressed his cheek.

Her little boy wasn’t a boy anymore. She felt like crying, realizing she felt… pride. Her child continued her legacy. She never had a favorite amongst her children, she loved them all equally… Or so she thought. Lanni was a smart, confident lady. Otho was down-to earth and pragmatic, but Arno… Arno was just like her. Addicted to the thrill of the heist.

But he was cocky and overconfident, and that was the bane of many good thieves. He had to be put down a notch for his own good. He should regain control of his body in about an hour. Until then, he should be left alone to think his actions over.

“Cover your tracks and meet me home.” She ordered, getting up.

Before leaving, she took a peek into the chest. Now did she realize what her boy was after; Belethor, the lecherous old Breton, had an uncensored copy of Queen Barenziah’s biography stashed away in his chest. The rest of the items had some value, but she knew it was the book Arno was after, he was a young lad, after all. She could fetch a nice price for the tome, Tornila was always in the market for books. She took it with a roughish sneer.

“Sorry, dear. You were clever, just not clever enough.”

She left the shop and went back home. She felt her heart heavy. There was no place for Arno in their home anymore, he should leave the house and go to Riften, it was the only logical conclusion. He’d soon make a mistake and get into trouble if he stays in Whiterun. And he’d cause the family a lot of embarrassment. And wreck his father.

She had no idea how to break the news to her husband, but that wasn’t her priority. First, she had to have a talk with her son. She went upstairs to her boys room and with relief remembered Otho was up in the Skyforge working with Eorlund on a new set of armor, so he won’t be home no sooner than after dawn.

She packed Arno’s things into a knapsack. After a moment of consideration, she went down to the basement and brought a few of her own items; a copy of the Shadowmarks book, a few lockpicks, some gold, and a pair of old Guild gauntlets. 

She’ll be damned if she lets her baby make the wrong decisions and get arrested for something foolish. No, he was her son, not some low footpad. He’ll join the Guild and get the best training a thief could get!

She rested in her favorite chair in front of the fire, though the embers were cold. She smiled bitterly. Was it a coincidence he turned to a life of crime? Was it something she passed down with her blood? Or was it Nocturnal’s cruel joke? She had no idea. There was no point in going through the possibilities. She had to act.

After less than an hour her son entered the house. He was still wobbly, but overall looked good.

“You could have warned me.” He said angrily.

“You wouldn’t learn any other way.” She replied indifferently, lighting the fireplace with magic. “Sit, dear. We need to talk.”

Arno sat in his father’s chair. All her children were tall. Though her boys weren’t feeble, they hadn’t their father’s bulk.

“Are you going to tell dad?”

“Of course not. It will break his heart.” She declined. “He loves you, dear. And so do I.”

“Yeah.” He muttered. “Ow!” He yelped, as Caye slapped his lap with a coal rake.

“Do not disrespect us, whelp. And sit up straight.” She demanded. “Now…” she put the rod aside, “you do understand nothing will be as it used to anymore.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re smart. You’re leaving the house tonight. Much as it breaks my heart, I can’t have your carelessness put the family in danger.”

“And your reputation?” The pup backtalked. “Sorry.” He quickly said, seeing a burning spark in his mother’s soulless eyes.

She said nothing, but felt like crying. She nursed that damned brat, taught him how to write his own name and allowed him to sleep in their bed whenever there was a storm. This was her own flesh and blood. She suddenly wished she hadn’t had a young man sitting next to her, but a helpless babe crying for a teat to suck on.

“Mother…” Arno dared to ask. “Who are you.”

“You’re not privileged enough to know that sort of information.” Caye replied with dignity. “But I’ll tell you this – I am a professional. I have talent, but I honed my natural predispositions with years of training and experience. And so will you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re leaving for Riften.” She shoved the knapsack towards him with her foot. “There, you’ll find a man named Brynjolf. You’ll tell him I sent you. Do not tell him you’re my son.” She conditioned sternly. “That’s all I can do for you.”

“And if I refuse?” Arno hated being told what to do.

“I’ll use all my contacts and resources to make life miserable for you, dear. You’re my progeny, but foolishness is something I shall not tolerate.”

He took a moment to consider her words. It was about time he left home, anyway. Dad kept nagging he makes up his mind on what he wants to do with his life. His siblings were so nauseatingly… comprehensible. It was time he grows up and takes his life in his own hands.

“Fine.” He said, standing up. “I’ll go.”

Caye stood up as well. She opened his arms, her youngest fell into his embrace. She held him tight, almost desperately. He was electrified when he realized his mother’s shoulders were shaking and she wept into his chest.

“Mom…” He held her closer, she was so petite. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” She said, pulling herself away, the tears were gone. “Don’t ever be sorry for who you truly are.” She added softer, caressing his cheek.

“I’ll make you proud, just you wait!” He promised with fire in his eyes.

“I know you will.” Caye smiled warmly. “Steal my horse. And don’t you dare show your face in Whiterun until you prove yourself a true thief.” She sternly said.

“That won’t take long.” He assured with a smirk. “Goodbye, mother.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

He took the knapsack and was gone the very next second. Caye felt all her strength abandon her. She flung herself on the chair and hid her face in her hands. She cried, realizing she’ll have to lie to her husband as soon as he gets back home from a job he had in the neighboring hold. Oh, but much as Farkas was simpleminded, he wasn’t an idiot. He’ll know the truth soon. She dreaded the moment he finds out. She knew he won’t yell at her or make a scene. He’ll just… feel disappointment. And betrayal.

She did the best she could to make him happy, but as much as she was faithful, understanding and over time opened herself completely to him, she kept hurting him with her darker side. And he accepted, though suffered greatly.

Her head started to hurt. The relaxing bath will have to wait, all she wanted now was to cowardly fall asleep and shut all the feelings away.

Tomorrow, she’ll worry about everything tomorrow.


End file.
